The Punishing Game (11 page)

When Boff pulled up to the gym and parked, he found Detective Damiano sitting on the bottom step and writing on a pad. As Cullen got out of the rental and headed for the stairs, Damiano flipped the pad closed, stood up, and blocked his way.

“What were you and Boff just up to?” she said.

Cullen smiled. “Sorry, detective, but that’s privileged information. Now if you should change your mind and have lunch with me….”

“You don’t take rejection very well, do you?”

“I’m a boxer. Losing is never an option.”

“Well, champ,” she said with sarcastic emphasis on the
champ
, “this is one battle you’re not going to win.”

He brushed by her and went up the steps, throwing a “We’ll see” over his shoulder.

Boff got out of his car, strolled around to the passenger side, folded his arms across his chest, and leaned against the door. If she wanted to talk, he was obviously saying to himself, she would have to come to him.
Just to let her know who’s holding all the cards
.

Damiano crossed the sidewalk. “My investigation is stalled,” she said. “We need to talk.”

Boff looked at his watch. “I have a busy schedule.”

“Get in my car,” she said.

Boff said nothing.

“Look, I’m not taking you to the station,” she said. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Boff laughed. “Believe me, I’m not worried. I just don’t like your company.”

She let out a sigh of frustration. “The feeling’s mutual. But we may be able to do business together.”

Boff smirked at the notion. “I don’t work with cops, Damiano. Unless I’m defending them.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Boff. I can help you crack this case. Isn’t that what Cullen’s paying you for?”

“I’m not being paid by Cullen. Or anyone else. I’m doing pro bono work here.”

Damiano stepped closer. “Like hell you are! Look, I don’t care if Cullen or the pope is paying you. I’m offering you a mutually-beneficial deal.”

“Really?” Boff sounded amused. “What makes you think the Great Boffer needs help from a Grade Three Detective?”

“Grade Two,” she said, correcting him. “And I have access to sources of information you can’t get.”

She was right about that, but he’d be damned if he’d let her know. “Okay, I’ll give you five minutes,” he said. “Then I cut and run.”

“It’ll take more than that just to drive to the Botanic Garden.”

Boff made a face. “What the hell are we going there for?”

“The water lilies are beautiful this time of the year.”

At the Botanic Garden ticket window, Damiano showed her member pass and got a guest pass for Boff. Then she led him past the various gardens and stopped at a long, arched walkway overlooking two large pools of water filled with what a sign said were lilies and sacred lotuses.

“I love it here,” the detective said in a gentler voice than before. “My mom brought me all the time. I was a tomboy. She wanted to expose me to things besides climbing trees and fighting with boys.”

Boff did not smile. “Thanks for sharing that. Your five minutes start now.”

“Okay, the more I poke into this case,” Damiano said, “the more I’m convinced this wasn’t a drive-by shooting between gangs.”

Boff clapped his hands. “Attagirl! I knew that from the beginning.”

Damiano frowned. “Don’t turn this into a pissing match, Boff. We both gain by working together.”

“How so?”

“In your case,” she began, “you get to gloat over solving a murder that the cops wrote off as a drive-by.”

“And you?”

“If I solve this case, I’ll get promoted to First Grade. It’s what I’ve worked hard for since I joined the force.”

Boff nodded. “I also imagine it would show your father you were right to become a cop and not the housewife and mother of his future grandchildren that he wanted you to be. Hey, who knows—your old man might even finally forgive you for taking up gymnastics as teenager, instead of ballet. Which he considered more feminine.”

Damiano’s face reddened. “You had no damn business looking into my personal life!”

“Actually, I did,” he told her. “If anyone—like you—is going to be interfering with my investigation, I need to know everything about who I’m dealing with. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t know my life story, too.” She glanced away. “Even as a Detective First Grade, you’d have a long way to go to be as good as your father. I’m told that George Damiano was one of the most highly-decorated captains in the history of the NYPD. And you’d still have to compete for your father’s affection with your brothers. That’s Tony, a deputy chief, and Louie, a fire captain and hero.”

Damiano was clearly struggling to control her anger. “Shut it down, Boff. Let’s move on.”

He was gazing out at the water. “I’m listening.”

“You’ve been asking questions about Yusef Force and Sonny Ricci,” she said. “Why?”

His brow wrinkled.
How did she know that?

“Caught you by surprise, huh, hotshot?”

Boff suddenly remembered Inger, the Swedish masseuse who’d been in the room during his conversation with Enrique Solis. She had looked familiar to him. Now he placed her. She was an undercover cop who’d been a witness in a trial he had worked on a few years earlier.

He smiled
. “Detective, you’ll have to get up a lot earlier in the day to get a jump on me.”

“Bullshit. You have no clue how I found out.”

“Inger.”

Damiano frowned. “Okay. So you know. You actually think Yusef Force would try to kill Cullen just to help his nephew?”

He offered nothing in reply.

“Come on, Boff. Talk to me.”

“Give me one reason why I should tell you anything about what I’m doing.”

“Because,” she said, “I have access to info on Force and Ricci you don’t have as a civilian.”

Boff leaned toward her. “You mean like the fact that they were bunkmates at the same juvy center?”

Caught off-guard a second time,
the detective stiffened her spine. “How the hell did you know that?”

“I’m Frank Boff.”

She thought for a moment. Then she got it. “If I find the detective who gave you that information, he’s toast!”

“You won’t. So, Princess Lily Pad, what else do you have to trade?”

If she had a reaction to being called Princess Lily Pad, she didn’t show it. “Answer me this,” she said. “How many times over the years have you used police officers for intel—like you just did to get at the juvy records?”

“Your point being….?”

“You know damn well a major police department is loaded with assets.”

Boff yawned and tapped his watch. “Two minutes left.”

“Okay,” she said coyly, “How about you talk it over with your client. See what Cullen thinks.”

“Cullen lets me run the show.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Here’s a news flash, Big Shot: your boxer has the hots for me.”

“He won’t after I tell him you’re a lesbian with a live-in partner. Lieutenant Diane Barrios I believe her name is.”

Seeing how angry Damiano looked made him happy. “Okay,” he said, “don’t go having a stroke on me. I’ll run it by Cullen and leave out the part about you being a perve.”

Damiano’s fists balled up.

“Lighten up, Damiano. You take life much too seriously. For the record, I have gay friends, and they’re just like normal people. Except they’re a little confused about which hole to stick their peckers in.”

At this, she let out a laugh despite herself. “Boff, you’re some fucking piece of work.”

“So I’m told. Eventually, if people hang around me long enough, they almost learn to like me.”

Damiano rolled her eyes. “Do you really believe all the bullshit that comes out of your mouth?”

Boff shrugged. “Maybe eighty percent. The rest even I have a hard time swallowing.”

Damiano seemed appeased. “So will you run it by Cullen without mentioning that…I’m a…perve? Which I am not.”

Boff smiled. “Yes. I won’t tell him you’re a muff diver.”

“And if he agrees, you’ll work with me?”

“Against my better judgment, yes.”

“Let’s head back,” she said.

As they walked back across the terrace, she turned to him. “What changed you? I’m told that when you were in the DEA, you were like this gung-ho agent. All hell bent on ridding the world of bad guys. How come you switched sides?”

“This side pays better.”

“There’s got to be more to it than that.”

He nodded. “Let’s just say I lost respect for law enforcement.”

“How come?”

“It’s ancient history, Damiano. I am what I am now and I’m quite happy.”

That evening, Boff picked up Cullen and Bellucci at the gym for the drive into
Manhattan, where Force-Ricci’s Downtown Boxing show was being held. Along the way, he told Cullen about Damiano’s wanting to work with them.

“Cool!” Cullen said. “Now I can concentrate on breaking down her defenses.”

Bellucci shook his head. “The only thing cool about her, Danny, is she’s a frosty bitch.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Cullen said. “I bet there’s a lot of heat and passion under that detective’s exterior.”

Boff said, “And you figure you can bring that hot side out, huh?”

“Absolutely. She’s attracted to me. I can see it in her eyes. I’m not bragging, but what’s not to like about a handsome young guy with a great body?”

Bellucci laughed. “Now you sound like me. Mikey’s having a positive effect on you.”

“That’s scary,” Boff said without laughing.

After Boff parked at a garage on
East 33
rd
Street near 8
th
Avenue, Bellucci led them to the Hammerstein Ballroom inside the Manhattan Center on 34
th
Street. Boff surprised Cullen by buying ringside seats.

“And with your own money!” Cullen said. “I figured we’d be sitting up in the second balcony.”

Boff nodded. “Normally, we would. But it’d be hard to speak with Sonny Ricci from the cheap seats. I also want to observe him to get a read on what he’s like. The two hundred and twenty-five bucks I paid for tickets I can write off on my taxes. Better to treat myself to good seats than let the government steal a penny more of my hard-earned money.”

Entering the arena, they noticed that almost the whole ringside area was taken up by Hasidic Jews.

Boff turned to Bellucci. “Mikey, what’s with all the Orthodox Jews?” he asked.

“Dmitry Rogoff is in the first fight tonight. He’s an Orthodox Jew. Originally from
Russia. Now lives in Brooklyn. Dmitry is probably the only professional boxer in America that eats strictly kosher and won’t fight on the Sabbath.” As they settled into their front row seats, he added, “Mikey has sparred with Dmitry. The guy’s good. But definitely not on Mikey’s level.”

When Boff asked which guy was the promoter
, Bellucci pointed across the ring. “Sonny Ricci’s the tall guy standing by the press area and yakking to the scribes. Big nose. Black Downtown Boxing T-shirt.”

As Boff picked out the guy who fit the description, Bellucci leaned closer to him. “The scribes love Sonny ’cause he’s like Mikey. A quote machine. The big difference between Sonny and me is Mikey doesn’t rip other people unless they disrespect him. Sonny’s got a temper. He’ll trash anybody when he loses it. Sonny….”

Bellucci stopped talking when they heard a commotion coming from the entrance to the arena. They turned around to see what it was. A fashionably-dressed black man wearing a lot of bling had just entered the arena with an entourage of beautiful women and handsome young men. Spotting him, the Hassidim stood up in unison and cheered raucously for the new arrival.

“That’s Jay-Z,” Bellucci said. “He’s the richest rapper in the world.”

When a young Hassid with a microphone began rapping into his mike in Yiddish, Bellucci added, “That guy’s name is Mazel Tov. He’s rapping ‘Hard Knock Life.’ Jay-Z’s biggest hit.”

At this point, Ricci left press row in a hurry and hustled over to greet Jay-Z as he came down the aisle with his entourage. Ricci escorted the rapper and his party to front row seats reserved behind a red velvet rope.

When the house lights suddenly went off, a spotlight from the second tier shone down on a boxer who had just entered the arena through the tunnel that led from the locker rooms. He was wearing a light blue silk robe with a dark blue Star of David on his right breast. The Jews went wild, chanting, “Mitry! Mitry!” Mazel Tov blasted out more rap.

Boff turned to Bellucci. “I gather that’s the boxing mench,” he said.

“What’s a mench?”

“It’s a Jewish term of affection for someone who does good deeds
. Needless to say, I’ve never heard the term applied to me by anyone other than my mother.”

As Dmitry Rogoff approached the ring, Bellucci stepped away from his seat and pointed a finger at him. Rogoff answered by extending a gloved fist back at him.

“L’chaim!” Bellucci shouted.

When Ricci brought Rogoff over to meet Jay-Z, the rap star stood up and hugged the boxer. The crowd went wild again. After a minute, Rogoff left Jay-Z and climbed through the ropes. In the ring, he motioned with both gloves for Mazel Tov to join him. The Yiddish rapper practically sprinted to the ring, slipped through the ropes, grabbed the ring announcer’s mike, and resumed rapping. The Hassidim let out another thunderous roar.

Boff put his hands over his ears. “I feel like I’m at a bar mitzvah,” he said.

Once the fight started, Rogoff made short work of his opponent; a thirty-year-old part-time boxer that Cullen said probably worked at a pizzeria and looked like he ate as much as he sold. After Rogoff put the pizza guy down twice in the first round and twice more in the second, the referee stopped the fight.

Cullen scowled. “I bet that blob heads right back to the pizzeria in time to make the late shift.”

Bellucci looked at Boff. “That was what we boxers call a ‘stay busy fight,’” he said. “It’s one step up from sparring. Barely.”

The next three fights were also stay-busy affairs, with Ricci’s boxers winning early and easy. The bouts were so uncompetitive, in fact, that the promoter didn’t even watch. Instead, Ricci schmoozed with Jay-Z and only stopped chatting him up when the next to the last fight on the card started. Ricci’s boxers in the last two fights looked decidedly more polished than any of the previous fighters. Despite being given credible opponents, each scored a knockout after a few rounds.

As soon as the last fight was over, Bellucci stood up. “Let’s go meet Sonny.”

Ricci made a show of embracing Jay-Z and his entourage before they left. Then, seeing Bellucci approaching with Cullen and Boff, the promoter broke into a smile.

“Hey, Mikey!” he called out, “thanks for coming.” Ricci put a hand on Bellucci’s shoulder. “Soon as you pick up a few more W’s, I’m going to give you a shot at one of my better prospects. If you can beat him, or even come close, I’ll sign you.”

“That’d be great, Sonny.” Bellucci pointed to Cullen. “This guy you know, of course,” Cullen nodded to Ricci. “The tall dude is Danny’s friend, Milton Boff.”

After shaking hands with Cullen and Boff, Ricci’s face suddenly turned grim. “Rough news about Nino, Mikey. I hope they catch the motherfuckers that did it.” He looked at Cullen. “You okay, Danny? I heard you got hit.”

Cullen touched the top of his head. “It was just a flesh wound. I’m fine. Nothing that will keep me from beating your boy, Jermain.”

Ricci laughed. “Lotsa luck!”

Now Bellucci changed the subject. “Hey, Sonny, I was surprised to hear you weren’t at the funeral or burial.”

Ricci nodded. “My bad. Nino and I had a falling out. Nothing major. If I wasn’t such a stubborn asshole, I’d’ve smoothed things out. Man, I loved Nino like a brother. I’ll have to talk to Michelle.”

The promoter finally turned to Boff and stared at him for a minute. To Cullen, it didn’t seem like a friendly look.

“So
Milton
,” Ricci said, “what do you do?”

“I’m self-employed.”

Ricci gave him the once over. “Accountant, right?”

“No. I work for the bottom feeders. Lawyers.”

“Doing what?”

Boff gave him his most enigmatic smile. “Research.”

At that, Ricci and Boff locked eyes a moment before the promoter said, “Listen, guys, I’m heading over to Yusef Force’s club. You wanna tag along?”

Cullen gave the thumbs up. “You bet!”

“Good. Jermain’s gonna be there. Maybe you two can do some trash talking. Pretend to go at each other. Knock over chairs and glasses. That kind of stuff. I could get good ink for your fight in the tabloids and on the Internet.”

But Cullen shook his head. “No, I never trash talk. I let my fists do my talking.”

Ricci smiled. “Just like your old man. He was a class act. So let me say goodbye to the reporters, then we’ll head over to the club.”

As the promoter made a beeline for press row, Cullen turned to Boff. “Proud of your prodigy?” he asked. “I just got us a chance to meet and size up Yusef.”

“Very impressive,” Boff said. “Now you can mingle with a bunch of hip-hop gangstas, any one of which might still be looking to cap you. Let’s hope nobody does, because I’d hate to lose a client on my watch.”

“I seriously doubt Yusef would let that happen in his own club,” Cullen said.

Boff could only shake his head. “If you can make a dumb statement like that, you’re definitely not my prodigy.”

Cullen hit back: “Well, since you think it could be dangerous, maybe we should ask your mother to come along with her shotgun.”

Bellucci raised his eyebrows. “His
mother?
”

Cullen nodded. “
Milton’s seventy-two-year-old mother runs numbers for the biggest mobster in the Bronx. She also owns a shotgun and is pretty handy with it.”

“You’re shitting me.” He turned to Boff. “
Milton, is this true?”

After shooting dagger eyes at Cullen, Boff replied: “No comment.”

But Bellucci was too amused to let it go. “A mother who packs a shotgun,” he said. “Gee, I hope she’s not trigger happy.”

When he and Cullen laughed, Boff pointed a finger at them. “I don’t want either of you clowns telling anyone anything about my mother ever again.”

“Why not?” Cullen said. “Are you ashamed of her?”

“No, I’m not ashamed of her. Just worried. What if a cop overheard you saying that and they arrest her?”

Cullen spread his hands. “So? Then you could do what you do best. Defend her and get her off.”

He high-fived Bellucci.